


The Camera Never Lies

by redbullf1angel



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 09:35:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1382605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redbullf1angel/pseuds/redbullf1angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A freelance F1 photographer captures shots which could make her fortune but could cause the greatest ever scandal in the sport…</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Camera Never Lies

Author’s note – Set sometime during the 2010 season, the Sunday evening after a race in … well, you can decide where… Had this idea for a while, but it just wouldn't fit in with my series The Red Bull Chronicles so have written it as if it's in a completely different universe, as a stand alone story...  

 

Yes – I’m a freelance F1 photographer, paying my own way around the world, selling my photos where I can to make ends meet, always hoping that the next click of the digital camera shutter will capture the shot that will make me a fortune or at least secure me a firm contract with one of the big sports photography agencies. Yes - my job is hard work and money is always a worry, especially be freelance… but as a fan, what could better than following the F1 circus around the world, combining my love of F1 with my love of photography to try and carve out a career for myself. It’s my dream life.

So what am I doing in this five star hotel suite? Well, just once in a while a girl craves a touch of luxury – no crowded camp site full of raucous F1 fans intent on drinking the night away keeping me awake when I need to be up with the lark in the morning to get a good position trackside, good food instead of burger and chips for dinner, the sublime pleasure of lying in a warm bubble bath with a glass of wine instead of a quick five minute shower with lukewarm (if lucky) water in the camp site ablutions block, and the feel of soft Egyptian cotton sheets against my skin as I lie on a soft mattress and drift off into restful sleep instead of tossing and turning all night in a cold, uncomfortable sleeping bag on an air mattress that refuses to stay inflated for the entire night in a tent that just about manages to keep the rain out, if I am lucky.

With the day’s photos uploaded to my website for sale, I shut the lid down on my lap top and stretch. It had been a great weekend for me – I had managed to secure some fantastic shots, some of which had already been bought by a top F1 magazine for a handsome price. Perhaps I might have enough to treat myself again this season… But I was determined to savour the luxury of my last night in this particular establishment before I had to check out tomorrow lunchtime in time to catch my flight back to the UK.

I stood up and walked across to the window and looked out from on high over the bustling city scene below. It may be Sunday night, but this city never seems to sleep I think – if it wasn’t for the darkness, you would never have guessed it’s the early evening. To me it’s a breath-taking view and I grab my camera from the nearby table, and take a few photos, just for my own private collection.

But as I pan the camera round, a movement in a room in the hotel opposite me catches my eye, and I gasp in surprise as I realise that it’s none other than Sebastian Vettel, the young Red Bull driver. Now I will freely admit that I am somewhat of an F1 groupie when it comes to the drivers, but come on, can you really blame me? There are too many gorgeous men at the peak of physical fitness to ignore! Spending so much time in close content to them, is certainly an added perk of the job!  

I can’t help myself but watch him through the telephoto lens on my camera, as he rests his back against the door before stepping slowly forward into the room. He’s still in his Red Bull gear, and no doubt he’s just come in from the team party celebrating yet another marvellous one-two for the rebel team on the grid. I know I've got a good camera, but even I am taken aback that even from this distance, I can still see just how bright his blue eyes are, just how unruly his mop of blond hair is. He looks so damn hot!

He's clutching something, and, as he looks down and strokes it, I realise it’s the trophy he’s won for his first place today. He glances up, clearly taking in his reflection in the mirror, and I suddenly realise he’s posing a little with it. I can’t help but laugh. He may well be a race winner, but he’s still only a baby at this game, still so new, everything’s got that shiny, special feeling to it, it’s all still a novelty to him, and I hope he never grows tired of feeling like this. He puts the trophy down on the desk by the TV but can’t resist touching it one last time before he bends to open the small fridge beneath. He straightens up, clutching only a bottle of chilled water. He’s only young, early-twenties – so what’s a kid like him doing back in his hotel room with the whole cosmopolitan city seemingly in party mode laid out before him? Now if he’d come back with some girl I’d have understood why he’s returned to room so early. Okay, yes, I know he’s madly in love with his high-school sweetheart, Hannah, but she never seems to be around, and he certainly wouldn’t be the first to be tempted by the chance of some fun when alone and so far away from home…

Seb wanders slowly to the window, leans his hands against the glass, arms outstretched, watching the city below. Just one word springs to mind – gorgeous. I hope he doesn’t draw the curtains shut, and I hold my breath in case he decides to draw the curtains, but he clearly likes the view and he thinks he’s safe, so many floors above ground level. He turns from the window, leaving the drapes open wide. He rolls his shoulders as he walks away from me. He kicks off his trainers as he sits on the edge of the bed and I watch his toes curl in his socks.

He reclines back on his elbows, feet swinging slowly, just skimming the surface of the carpet. He looks like he’s waiting for someone. I know I shouldn’t – I always said I’d never lower myself to become some stalking paparazzi photographer – but I’m overwhelmed by curiosity as to who he’s waiting for. He unfastens his team hoodie and with it open, his shirt is tight enough that I can practically see the muscles rippling across his flat stomach. I make a mental note to check out the photographs a friend took of him and his team mate at a shoot for Red Bull sponsor Pepe Jeans – I bet they’re hot.

Seb cocks his head towards the door, where I assume someone has knocked. He answers and I hold my breath as I wait for him to move out of my line of vision so I can see who his caller is. Perhaps he isn’t as squeaky clean as all the PR seems to make out! But I can’t help but let a little huff of disappointment escape my lips when I see it’s only his team mate Mark Webber who enters and shuts the door behind himself. Not that I’m complaining about seeing Mark – his Aussie rugged, good looks certainly make me go weak at the knees and he’s more my type than Seb anyway. I just had a thought that may be Seb was up to no good with someone.

Mark picks up the trophy from the side and waves it in Seb’s direction, clearly teasing him. Seb laughs and reaches for his trophy, but his team mate fends him off. They’re soon wrestling a little now, pushing and squabbling over the trophy and okay, all this horseplay is real cute… may be a little hot. I can’t help but fire off a couple of shots, thinking perhaps I could make something out of this. Then Seb lunges, grabs at the trophy, but as he does so, Mark pulls it away, and, with his other arm, he sweeps around, pulling Seb down into the loveliest drop-kiss I’ve ever seen outside the cinema.

OMG!!!

I can’t believe what I am seeing!

The two Red Bull drivers are kissing!

Frightened that in the cold light of day I might have thought I dreamt the whole thing, I fire off a couple of dozen shots, my eyes glued to the erotic scene before me through the camera lens, as the kiss deepens. They stand, still kissing. Mark places the trophy back down on the table and holds Seb in his arms, both hands reaching down slightly to cup the slightly shorter man’s face as the kiss goes on and on. I zoom in a bit closer: I can see the wet slide of their tongues, the dark stubble on Mark’s chin, and I zoom out again as they start to grind into each other. Seb pushes Mark back into the wall, splaying him flat as he nibbles and bites his neck. Mark arches up, raising his chin to grant him full access, his eyes closed, face titled in my direction displaying nothing but pure bliss. They way they are reacting to each other makes me realise that this isn’t some drunken mistake they’re going to regret in the morning and neither can it be their first time. They’re lovers, there’s no question of it, I can tell even before Seb does something that makes Mark shudder and moan – I can practically damn well hear it, his reaction is so visceral.

Seb looks up, smiling at Mark, then stands tall to capture his face and kiss him breathless. Then Mark’s team jacket is off and Seb’s on his knees, one hand roughly shoving the Red Bull F1 shirt aside to kiss his stomach. Mark laughs, I can see his muscular abdomen flexing, Seb lavishes it with attention, burying his tongue in Mark’s naval, rubbing his day old stubble on his chin over the sensitive skin if his hipbones.

Mark leans against the wall, his hands flat against the flock wallpaper, nails scratching as his fingers curl. My finger is pressed hard to the shutter button, taking snaps at a rate of ten a second in three second bursts. I am just so stunned to be watching these two like this. It’s just… just… just so hot! Seb is tugging at the waistband to Mark’s knee length shorts, the zipper’s open and he’s rubbing him through his boxers, a clear ridge curling towards Mark’s hip. Seb sucks the tip through the material of the boxers and Mark bucks up, his hands moving to cup the back of Seb’s head and hold him in position as he dry humps his mouth, his eyes squeezed shut, no longer a passive participant but an aggressive, dominant man seeking release. Seb buries himself in Mark’s groin, freeing his dick, which springs out and slaps upward to hit his stomach.

Mark’s cock is gorgeous: seven or eight inches of thick, smooth flesh, the foreskin already pulling back to reveal a lush head, glistening. Seb’s fist curls around the root and I watch him mouthing the base, dragging his lips up and down the side of the full length. He flicks his tongue at the tip and a strand of fluid comes with it, connecting them for a second before it stretches and snaps. He looks up and says something that makes Mark laugh and then without warning he dives down, taking him to the root in the first breath, literally engulfing him. Mark slumps against the wall, his hips jerking erratically as Seb pulls off him in a slow slurp and bobs again, his blond head working furiously now, sucking him hard and fast. Seb drops a hand to his own crotch, elbow working in time with his head as his tugs himself free of his own shorts.

Mark throws him off with a sudden lurch and Seb tumbles back on the floor, his cock in his hand, standing proud of his shorts. He’s slightly smaller than Mark, though not by much, but definitely a little slimmer. Mark drops to his knees between Seb’s parted legs, wrestling his hand off his cock to take over, sliding the foreskin up and over the tip and back down again a handful of times, his eyes never leaving Seb’s as he watches him react.

Seb hauls him forward and now they’re rolling on the floor, kissing frantically. One minute the youngster’s on top, and the next the older one is as they playfully fight for dominance, a rough edge to their game. Their clothes come off, and are scattered around them, as they kiss again, softer now. Seb lies in Mark’s arms, their legs tangled, hard cocks pressed together.

Mark’s making love to him, I realise. They’re speaking between kisses, smiling frequently, and I find my soppy romantic side, wishing that they are in love, wanting to believe the endearments Mark is so obviously murmuring are sincerely meant, that he’s proud of Seb, that they’re planning a life together eventually, away from the F1 circus.

Seb rolls onto his back, pulling Mark closer, his thighs falling open as their kisses pick up a pace and their bodies rock, hips thrusting. I zoom in closer, focusing on the ripple of muscles along Mark’s flanks, his buttocks flexing, dimples showing as he pushes harder. Seb’s head lolls on the carpet, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, hands pressed into the small of Mark’s back, urging him on, his feet hooked around the back of Mark’s knees.

Mark rises up on his arms, bending his head to suck one small, flat nipples into his mouth. I see his teeth flash between pink lips, watch skin stretch and flush as he drags back, tugging it out into a hard peak before releasing and swiping with the flat of his tongue. Seb is gone, so gone. Mark can do whatever he wants with him as long as he just keeps touching him.

I zoom my camera out again as Mark moves lower, biting now, leaving red and white rings in a pattern down Seb’s chest and stomach. Seb is failing on the floor, arms waving, his whole body arching upward as Mark’s teeth fasten on the soft skin of his waist. Seb laughs, his shoulder shake with it and he clasps Mark close, just hugging him, his face resting on his stomach.

Mark strokes back up Seb’s chest, leaning over him to kiss him again. Still kissing him, he plants a firm smack on the side of Seb’s arse, the handprint rising red even as Seb jerks, his reaction to the rough treatment electric. Their bodies writhe, humping against each other so hard. The shutter click sounds almost constantly and I worry fleetingly about running out of storage, but there’s no way I can stop to change the memory card now.

Mark hoists Seb’s leg on to his shoulder, mounting him sideways. His cock is hard between them, the head flushed purple, and Seb reaches down to pull on it, a long, lazy stroke from root to tip. His thumb swipes moisture from the slit and he raises the digit to his mouth, sucking on it. Mark closes his eyes, overwhelmed by the sight, pressing his damp forehead to Seb’s calf.

Mark sucks his fingers, reaching between their bodies to toy with Seb’s hole. I can’t quite see with the way they’re lying, but Seb’s reaction tells me the instant Mark stops tormenting him and penetrates him. Only one finger, I’m guessing, his wrist flexing as he drives in and out. Seb’s prick jumps between them, dribbling copiously. Mark withdraws and grabs his dick, pushing it between Seb’s cheeks and rubbing up and down against him, lingering at his entrance, his hips nudging forward, just teasing him with what’s still to come. Seb reaches to tug on his cock but Mark’s hand stills him, their fingers entwine across Seb’s stomach as Mark begins to push home.

But Seb is too impatient – he hooks his leg around Mark’s shoulder and pulls him forward, perhaps a little too eager because they both cry out as their bodies slam together. Seb’s upper torso curves towards me as he struggles to accommodate the sudden invasion. His eyes are closed, a tense knot furrowed between his brows, his mouth is open and he’s panting, trying to force himself to relax. He looks so fucking beautiful, quivering on the edge.

His cock’s softened a little, curled now in the hollow of his hip, foreskin shucked up to nestle around the ridge of the tip. Mark cradles Seb’s leg on his shoulder as he turns his head to drop a slow kiss on the inside of his knee. It must be killing him, holding back like this, but he doesn’t show it. He waits patiently for Seb to catch up, his fingers skimming over thighs and hips and groin. They speak, just a few words, Mark smiles and slowly rotates his hips and Seb’s fist flies to his mouth, biting it to keep from squealing.

Mark slides out, releasing Seb’s hand to grip the top of his thigh where torso meets groin, pulling Seb back on to him. Seb curves off the floor in a graceful arc, suspended on his shoulders, hips canted forward, his prick – hard again – lying flat along his belly. Mark withdraws and thrusts home, jerking Seb’s whole body. He’s going slow but still rough and Seb’s fingers curl in the thick carpet, his body flexing and writhing, his spine bowed as Mark fills him up. His cock starts to lift and I can tell by the way it twitches every time Mark hits his prostate.

Mark releases Seb’s thigh to stork his cock, just rubs flat up it from base to tip, curling his fingers over the head and stroking with his thumb against the super-sensitive underside. Seb practically bends double, his eyes wide open in a shock of sensation and Mark laughs, knowing exactly what he is doing to him. His thrusts speed up, he grips Seb’s leg more to brace himself than support Seb and pounds into him, short, sharp and to the hilt. His hand holds Seb’s cock, just the movement of their bodies slamming together enough to provide the friction Seb needs to keep him on edge.

Mark withdraws completely and pushes straight back in, withdraws and invades. I think Seb howls – I’m sure he’s certainly not being quiet and I wonder briefly what the occupants of the next rooms make of what they’re surely hearing. Mark’s playing him like an instrument, clearly experienced and not just in general terms of gay sex, but with this man, with Seb – he knows exactly what he needs and he gives it to him.

It’s all Seb can do to hang on and experience what’s happening, but that’s all Mark asks - Seb is just a vessel, a receptacle for his gorgeous dick as he rides him, almost painfully hard. Seb’s arms are folded tight against his chest, palms out towards Mark, fingers clawed and his teeth gritted, watching Mark from under his lashes. Little lines crease around his eyes as he fights from closing them, desperate to keep watching his dominate lover.

Another rotation and Seb’s torso twists until he’s almost face-down on the floor, his lips pulled back in an unmistakable groan. Mark withdraws and flips him over, yanking at his hips, face down and ass up, thighs spread. Mark pulls his cheeks apart, spits and rubs it in with his thumb, making Seb whimper. He takes his dick and slaps his hole with it a couple of times, the slaps making muscles contract reflexively, heightening sensation. He lines up, but rather than pushing back inside he pulls Seb up, gripping his face to twist him into a kiss as he sinks home. Their mouths meet sloppily, Seb’s arms curl over his head to hold Mark by his hair, pulling him closer. Mark’s arms encircle Seb’s chest and waist, just holding him. Seb’s dick is rock hard, standing straight up between his legs, and Mark reaches down to tug it as he begins to thrust again.

Seb’s head lolls on Mark’s shoulders, eyes closed and mouth open, his whole chest and neck flushed a stunning pink, his body shaking with the impending force of his orgasm. Mark’s thrusts become firmer, his hand moves rapidly between Seb’s legs, practically flying over his cock. He bites the soft lobe of Seb’s ear and whispers something to him: “I love you. You’re so beautiful. Come for me.” I haven’t really got a clue what Mark says, but whatever is said, it works. I see the muscles in Mark’s arms straining to keep Seb pressed against him as he comes, hot spunk splattering up his stomach and chest, glistening on the underside of his chin as he cries out his relief.

Mark rides him through it, burying his face in the back of Seb’s neck as he heaves and thrusts, clearly close himself. Seb’s contractions were probably all he needed, that sudden, vicious grip around his cock insisting he climax – he spurts inside him with two or three violent thrusts and Seb moans, reaching behind himself to hold Mark’s hips close as they start to come down.

It’s the sight of Seb’s face that undoes me, his almost-pained, almost ecstatic expression when Mark fully withdraws and pushes slowly back inside, rocking their hips as he pulls on Seb’s flushed dick, squeezing the last few drops out. Then they are kissing again, slow and lazy now they are sated. Seb’s dick is softening, barely at half-mast between his legs. Mark turns him and lies him down on his back on the carpet, climbing on top to kiss him more thoroughly. Their lips and tongues dance, hands stroking, legs twisted together. They speak between kisses, smiling, and I just know this is love. It makes me feel ashamed that intruded on these private moments.

I turn away from the window, and go back to my lap top and printer. The pictures are amazing, practically a filmstrip thanks to me having taken so many. I’ve got the whole encounter recorded in frame by frame, high definition detail. The thought crosses my mind that all it would take would be one phone call and it would launch the biggest bidding war of my career, with dozens of editors who would give their all for the photos. The two Red Bull team mates would wake in the morning to find their secret love plastered across the front page of tabloids across the world, their public romantic relationships would be in tatters and their careers in motorsport could be threaten… but I’d never again have any money worries.

I look at the photos I have printed off and it’s the very last one that catches my eye the most. They’re lying on the floor, just holding each other and smiling, naked and spent and happy. It’s so so evident that they are so much in love with each other.

My mind is made up. I gather all the photos I have printed off and together with the memory card, I stuff them into a large buff coloured envelope. I scribble a quick note on a piece of paper and after pushing that inside too, I carefully securely seal the envelope up.

At the hotel across the road from mine, I plead the receptionist into giving me Seb’s room number, waving the envelope and insisting that the driver wanted these photos before he flew out in the morning and I’d lose my job if he didn’t get them. I take the lift to the relevant floor, and find the correct room. Without a moment’s hesitation, I shove the envelope under the door. I may have kissed my meal ticket goodbye, but their secret love is safe.      

 

For the next couple of races, I can’t help but watch them as closely as I dare – but there’s not a hint of anything untoward between them... to the watching world of F1 they are nothing more than team mates, friends off track but deadly rivals on. No one suspects anything else… but me.

And me, I’m still struggling to make it into the male dominated world of sports photography… struggling because I gave up the best thing that I ever snapped, a series of photographs so hot that the memory of them is still burnt into my mind as clear as if I was watching them right now. I handed over all the physical evidence of what I witnessed, without a word, without demanding a single penny, all because I intruded on their precious secret only to realise how much they loved each other. I just hope they took my scribbled note to heart…

“Let the love continue but please be careful as the camera never lies.”

     


End file.
